As Naught but a Single Glance can Kill
by S3nbonz4kura
Summary: Magic can be quite unpredictable, especially if one meddles with fate. As Dumbledore placed Harry at the Dursleys doorstep Magic herself intervenes and whisks Harry away to an entirely different dimension. Join our hero as he travels across this new world and experience his adventures with him.
1. Chapter 1

**Spoiler alert: **I don't own Harry Potter, or anything related to the brand, the only thing I DO own are the OC's and the general plot of this story …. Would be nice if I did own HP tho. What I could do with all that money … Sorry I'm rambling, enjoy!

**Prologue – I spy with my little eye…. **

Windswept, lonely, barren or simply dusty. These were words that seemed to define every account of the Kingdom of [Dust] and truth be told, every single one of them fit said kingdom to a T, as it was situated in the middle of the plains of Meredin. Now, if one were to give an honest, down to earth description of the plains alone it would be something along the lines of: "Huge, desolated place. Not rich or prosperous by any means and on top of that full of roaming goblin hoards, but the people there are tough, hardworking and honest folks that will help a wanderer every day of the week."

Encased in its 4 neighbouring kingdoms the Kingdom of Dozhd was situated in the very centre of the plains and was dominated by exactly that, plains with not even a road connecting the few and far in between villages and cities. The kingdoms capital "Velitz" was the country's biggest city with a population of just over 15 000, mostly due to it being the Kings residency as well as being built at a crossroads of two often used trading routes and a river. After that, the size of cities drastically dropped however and the next biggest city, "Oblitahr", only numbered about 8000 citizens and after that, the next biggest settlements were a group of villages with population of around 4000.

Now Oblitahr was known for two things aside of being the second biggest city in its country, namely it's high number of leather workers and the quality of their products, which were the only reason anyone would have ever heard of Oblitahr as well as the kingdom of Dozhd if one were to be honest. So good was their work, that their wares were traded all over the continent, tho the farther one got from the plains themselves, the more often people only knew that those high quality leather products came from said plains, but not the exact location, which had led to men and women from all over the lands traveling to the plains to get commissioned leather gear, only to end up in some other town or place, getting mediocre gear at best.

Up high on the stone wall of the afore-mentioned city a male could be seen sitting on the battlement, looking over the dusty plains that reached as far as one could see. One leg lazily swinging in the breeze while the other was forming a half lotus the figures wide brimmed, brown cowboy hat threw a deep shadow over its eyes, rendering onlookers unable to make out where the person was looking. The man wore a buck leather jacket, leather pants that seemed to cling to his legs like a second layer of skin, an equally tight-fitting pair of riding boots complete with a pair of spurs and last but not least a red poncho thrown over his shoulders. All those articles of clothing appeared to be in varying states of use as their brown, or in the ponchos case red, colour seemed worn and faded.

At the sound of footsteps approaching the man turned his head slightly, only to see the major of Oblitahr slowly coming closer. He was a small, old man, barely 150 centimetres (4'9) tall and as scrawny as they come, with a face full of overly pronounced worrylines there were even more prominent in the orange light of the setting sun. He couldn't seem to stop fidgeting as he stepped closer to the mysterious man, never seeming to be able to look at said man for too long before averting his gaze to the surrounding wall.

Finally, having gathered enough courage, the major asked the mystery-man in an almost pleading voice. "Are you sure you can protect us from those goblins sir? 'Cause no one has seen you do anything since our scouts told us that the horde was approaching and we are paying you lots of money to do this." A rather uneasy silence followed, as the mysterious man slowly got up from his seated position, still looking over the far plains in front of him.

"You see old man, that's the difference between you folks and my kind, you worry too much. It's almost like there's always something on your mind. My kind? My kind is proud, strong and hard headed, as well as laid back when it comes to battles. Tho laid back may be the wrong term here …. hungry and excited would fit that role way better. I gotta admit they are a handful to deal with but what can one do? Tho you needn't have worried."

Just as these words were spoken a loud war horn could be heard, the agreed signal to alert the city of the nearing goblin hoard that was about 3500 creatures strong and had been terrorizing the surrounding towns for way too long now.

Looking out onto the plains one could make out the huge dust cloud that was being created by the thousands of feet, swiftly marching on the next settlement to fall pray to their bloodthirsty claws, teeth and clubs.

"Those puny little goblins aren't even close to my level" grumbled the hat wearing man back on the city wall of Oblitahr under his breath, before straightening his back and announcing in a louder voice to the major who was still standing behind him. "You needn't have worried" , as he looked over the mass of goblins, that were now dangerously close to the city gate. "For as long as I can see someone …. I can kill them." With those words the mans eyes flashed, his left one in blood red, seemingly producing red, spectral flames, while his right eyes started to glow in an eerie, emerald green. Naught but a second later every single goblin seemed to trip at the same time, only to fall to the ground in full sprint.

A ghostly silence filled the plains as the goblins battle cries and grunts stopped all at once, only for their corpses to slowly start disintegrating into nothingness. Atop the barricade our mysterious man turned around on his heel, his eyes once more covered in shadows, and left the terrified major with a simple "I'll come and collect my money tomorrow" 

OoWoO 

OOOOOOOOOOOKKKKKKAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY soooooo ….. how do I say this. This is my first story that I am posting on here and thus I would ask you to not expect anything spectacular. I appreciate any and all feedback you have for me and I hope you liked this little prologue.

For the story itself I gotta say that I was heavily inspired by the "2 Demons" story about McCree and Hanzo from Overwatch for this chapter in particular and by nutsofthechest's "Percy Jackson The Dark Gamer" for the general Idea of the stroys world.


	2. Chapter 2

**Spoiler alert: **I don't own Harry Potter, or anything related to the brand, the only thing I DO own are the OC's and the general plot of this story …. Would be nice if I did own HP tho. What I could do with all that money … Sorry I'm rambling, enjoy

**Chapter 2 – The Lord moves in mysterious ways  
**

For millennia's wizards and witches have dedicated time, passion and some even their entire life to try and fathom the wonder that is magic, but no matter how many questions these incredibly smart and wise people answered, they never seemed to be able to come closer to actually understanding what magic was. The only thing magical folk found early on, is that magic could be a fickle mistress, helping as much as she harmed or turned her back on her chosen few.

For centuries shamans and druids had to appease Lady Magic and her many manifestations and indulge her whims to in turn gain her favour by worshipping her, by bringing sacrifices in the form of animals, plans, their life blood or even other humans, but all that drastically changed when the [fire nation attacked] Roman empire started its self-imposed mission to conquer all of their known world.

Said conquest was possible not only due to the romans incredibly organised military, but also due to the way roman magicians managed to circumvent the way the relationship between wizards and Lady Magic had been up until then. Instead of pledging their allegiance to Magic herself they started using different kinds of foci made from magical creatures and/or plants that, in turn, had a very close relationship to magic. Doing this assured a magician's continued connection to magic but eliminated the need of continuous sacrifices or anything alike.

To discuss the negative impact that method had on wizard kind, one must first understand Lady Magic and what made witches special more in depth tho. Starting with Magic itself, she could best be described as a slow moving stream, not exactly sentient in a way that the ancient Greek imagined their gods to be but more along the lines of an ancient tree, slow, steady and still sensitive to all things happening around it, tho the difference between such a tree and magic is, that one can twist and damage a tree until it finally dies without it hitting back. Same could not be said for Magic, the only constant force that saturated the world, tho. Magic would endure. It would be patient with those that misused, abused and perverted her gift. But there would come the point where an individual crossed a line that shan't be crossed.

One such example would be Sodom and Gomorrah, once proud cities under the sky, they were led by warlocks that delved too deep into the dark arts, twisting their minds and bodies, creating monsters out of innocent children and tolerating rape and sin. And then came the point when Magic had had enough and in one incredible show of force, one that would later be described as the wrath of and omniscient god, tho to be honest, Magic was the closest thing earth would ever get to such a thing, both of these cities were razed to the very ground, not even a single citizen would love to tell the tale of the last few moments before their ultimate end, which were filled with the overwhelming feeling of having messed with something they really shouldn't have.

Now the modern witch or wizard really had nothing to be proud of when it came to possessing magic, as the only reason they did, in fact, possess such power was being the descendant of one of the chosen few that Magic herself had deemed worthy once upon a time, as for the reason why muggle- or mundane-born wizards and witches existed? Well, let's just say that even Squibs are able to pass down their innate affinity for magic, even if it might not resurface for many generations, but that is a subject for another day.

Understanding those things, having the afore-mentioned foci, or wands as they would be known later, cut a very important part in the relationship between Magic herself and wizarding kind, changing Magics attitude towards them in a rather drastic way. Where before Druids, shamans and magic users would be able to draw power from the environment or even request aid from "The Great Stream", as they called it, now they had to rely on their own strength exclusively, and many wonders and spells were lost, not only in time or translation, but simply due to the fact that they invoked powers, or aspects of The Stream, that were now unwilling to aid the magicals.

A great example for that were the Norse war priests, that were few in number but in turn exceedingly powerful and adapt at summoning great beasts, such as giant water serpents and similar, that they would have never been able to call to our plain of existence without The Streams willing assistance.

Having said that it becomes obvious why the average, modern magical is vastly inferior in terms of power to those of old, in turn only gaining a simpler and quicker way to cast their magic in the from of spells, jinxes, hexes and curses. To this day no one is entirely sure if the way the magical society changed due to this is entirely good or bad, as one can always argue both sides of the conflict but that is for another day to discuss.

The focus of this story, a new born boy with a vaguely lightning shaped scar running from the middle of the left side of his forehead down, over left eye, stopping at the height of his mouth, currently lies in a small, wooden basket right on the Porch of Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England, covered in simply a thin baby blanket and really only surviving due to his innate magic keeping him warm.

One might ask: "Why would anyone leave such a small child on the front porch in a cold November night on top of that?" Well the short answer would be that a certain old man, that was way too convinced of his own genius and too selfish while telling himself he only acts in the interests of others.

The long answer to that question would be, that Albus Wulfric Brian Percival Dumbledore had always believed himself to be not only the most powerful, but also smartest and most moral person in the room, which quickly led to him trying to control all those around him to come to what he perceived to be "the best possible outcome".

Having been unopposed for many decades, this stance had only been solidified for one Albus Dumbledore and thus a once only slightly manipulative man became something that very closely resembled a puppet master. As the sacrifices that he made over time for "The Greater Good" weighted heavily on his conscience Dumbledore fled himself into his role as "Leader of the light" and as he aged, while devoting all his time and strength into upholding a person to simply keep himself from falling apart, he started becoming what his critics and enemies had been calling him for a long time, namely forgetful and delusional.

Having established this understanding about Albus Dumbledore's mindset, one wouldn't be surprised that his reaction to the prophecy given by one Sybill Patricia Trelawney wasn't rational questioning, deduction work and working around such a thing due to his high skepticism toward this particular field of magic, as it once would have been. No, Dumbledore's reaction was an almost fanatic conviction that this prophecy was inevitable and that he had to do everything in his power to let it be fulfilled. If this meant to set up one Severus Snape to get parts of mentioned prophecy to the dark lord, and then afterwards betraying either the Potter's or the Longbottom's, the only possible candidates to fulfil the prophecy, to create the wizarding worlds saviour, then so be it, or so he thought.

Thus far Dumbledore's plan had worked out better than expected: he had gained a nifty little spy in Severus Snape, the Potters Secretkeeper, whom he had let them choose via a unnoticed compulsion spell, had, quite literally, ratted them out to the dark lord and Sirius Black, the godfather of one Harry Potter, by now better known as "The-boy-who-lived" or the saviour of wizarding Britain, had gotten himself detained due to suspicion to have betrayed his friends to "You-know-who".

Taking advantage of his position as Chief Warlock of the Wizgamot, Dumbledore fast tracked Black right into Azkaban, as to make sure none but those chosen few Dumbledore deemed "necessary" had a hand in the "Chosen One's" upbringing. An upbringing, that would mould him into a humble, selfless and martyr like little minion that could be used easily in Dumbledore's fight against the dark.

The only thing left for Dumbledore to do now would be to orchestrate a raid on the Longbottom's residence and seal the Potter's wills, finish all his spells that he was placing on the potter child and he would only have to wait for the child to come back to the wizarding world, starved for attention, amazed by the wonders of magic and ready o die for his new found friends and the magical world, which would represent his safe heaven.

Turning from his office's window to the small crib standing in the room he gave the elder wand a swift flick to finish up all those different spells he had been placing on the babe for the past few days now. These spells included, but were not limited to, magical trackers, spells to monitor the health of whomever it was attached to and would give warning if said person was near death, charms very alike to underpowered Notice-me-not charms, which would compel people outside of Harrys immediate family to dismiss him and everything he said and did as inconsequential, as well as far more …. Borderline dark magiks. One such magik was, what was commonly known as a "Core-bind" and basically bound the targets magical core in a way, that made it impossible to use more magic than necessary to survive.

In times past this particular spell had been used to punish extremely serious crimes but had been deemed too extreme in the late medieval age and considering it was deemed too extreme in a time that was just all kinds of messed up, one has to wonder why it was being placed on a mere child. The answer to that was exactly three words long, namely "The greater Good".

Having finished up everything Albus Dumbledore took a second to listen to his trilling familiar, one phoenix named Fawkes, and then handed the child to a waiting Hagrid, who was waiting to fly Harry to the residence of the Dursleys. Just as Hagrid had started up "his" flying motorcycle he got hit by a memory charm that deleted the last day from his memory, making him think he had just departed from Godrik's Hallow straight to the doorstep of one Vernon and Petunia Dursley.

This brings us back to Lady Magic interfering due to too much meddling with the intended fate of one Harry Potter. Just as Dumbledore, McGonagall and Hagrid had departed once again, pressure started to build up, the air started to thicken, and the streetlights of the surrounding area started flickering. All of these occurrences mounted to the point where it would have been hard to stand for a regular human and the air was almost tangible. Escalating even further, the whole neighbourhood was starting to be plagued by uneasy rest as well as nightmares of drowning in black nothingness, only for reality to suddenly snap and suddenly collapse inward on itself with the basket containing one Harry Potter at it's epicentre.

The soul of one Harry Potter was whisked away from what he had up until that point perceived, through his limited baby senses, as reality, parallel to the timestream into an entirely different dimension, governed by an entirely different set of rules and species. Seeing as no soul, no matter how powerful, for Harry's soul was indeed a monstrously strong one with even greater potential, even at his current age, could go through such a process unaltered, the new rules of little Harrys future home went ahead and altered him in their picture, first getting a feel or his past, present and future, then estimating his power and condition and lastly altering them accordingly. Seeing as all of the charms, spells and dark magics as well as a horcrux were clinging to his soul, the great stream of Harrys new home took to altering him into something more on the darker side of the spectrum than the human he once was. Slowly but surely his canines elongated, his eyes sharpened to pointy ends and two small bumps formed on his forehead. There were further changes made and while some were simple things like a denser bone structure, others would remain secret for many decades to come. And so a new and improved, nameless baby appeared in the small village of Sdrege.

Let the adventure begin!

**OowoO**

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAlright – heres another chapter, hope you liked it. Critique is welcome and as always, thanks for watching.


	3. Chapter 3

**Spoiler alert: **I don't own Harry Potter, or anything related to the brand, the only thing I DO own are the OC's and the general plot of this story …. Would be nice if I did own HP tho. What I could do with all that money … Sorry I'm rambling, enjoy

**Chapter 3 – Far over the misty mountains cold…. **

The continent of Nemod was cut off from the rest of the world. It has to be said, however, that this state of separation was not a voluntary one, as the landmass had been surrounded and thus hidden by magical mist since times before any there residing lifeforms memory, be it written, passed down or personal. In itself the place was beautiful, containing huge mountain ranges with peaks breaking through the clouds, lush, lively forests, providing a home for so many lifeforms that it would be impossible for any one being to catalogue, let alone find them all in their lifetime. Furthermore, there were beautiful, emerald plains, lightly swaying in the seemingly ever-present soft breeze. In terms of size the continent had never been measured by its resident intelligent lifeforms, but It was said to take 3 years to cross the continent horizontally by foot and 4 years vertically. Said measurements were made by trading caravans, meaning for any able-bodied individual it would take significantly less time to do so on their own.

Said folk calling Nemod its home were the so called "Nightwalkers", a people whose origin, although being humanoid in shape, could be closer traced to that of demons than actual humans. Possessing blueish-grey skin, milky white eyes, which could be mistaken as a blind person's eyes if one were to be clueless, as well as completely individual red markings and horns this was easily identifiable for anyone meeting a descendant of said folk.

Still, neither their unique physique nor their horns were what made the Nightwalkers truly special. What distinguished them from your run of the mill human, demon, angel or one of the many species that inhabited the planet that Nemod could be found on, was the fact that during their early youth every member of their people developed a single, personal ability. Said skill could range from something small, like slightly harder than usual fingernails, to quite substantial ones, as the example of one former chieftain showed, who was said to have been able to turn into an Ent-like creature at will.

If one were to take a closer look at the Nightwalkers they would find, that their social structure was primarily build on two things, namely the well-defined hierarchy of the 15 different tribes that existed, with 5 major and 10 minor ones, and secondly their reverence for their shamans. Said shamans were each tribe's connection to their creators, who they believe to be the so called "Rajilos ad Malaji", which translates to "Those you'll see last" in their native language.

Being a shaman in Nightwalker society was more than just praying, collecting plants and caring for the wounded tho, as shaman apprentices were not chosen by the old shaman, nor were they appointed by the tribe's chieftain or even the people themselves, no, a shamans apprentice had to be, what the Nightwalkers believed to be, chosen by fate. Before one can understand how it was determined how to find the next shaman in line it must be understood, that basically every single personal skill was combat related, be it transformation based or enhancing. Those few existing exceptions, namely 15 every other generation, would be the ones to take up the mantle as the next shaman for the tribe.

oOwOo

As the capital of the Gorjil Tribe, the biggest of the 10 minor tribes, Ttads was a village just about to become an actual city in terms of citizens as well as general size. Built from mainly wood and only very few instances of stone the village and its wall blended in well with the surrounding forest at the northern side of Nemod.

Ttads, for how lively it was usually, could almost be considered a ghost town at this present time, as not a single soul could be found in any house or street. Moving closer to the adjacent lake "Eakl" the reason for this phenomenon became obvious fast, as the village's citizens had come together to mourn a figure, cloaked in a thin, grey veil, lying on a wooden boat, ready to be given a proper pyre in the middle of said lake.

Coming closer the deep and slightly raspy voice of Nhamas, the tribe's current shaman, could be heard. "In the end, we have to keep one thing in mind! The old man would have wanted us to go on with our life, laughing and bickering as we always have, but I ask you of one thing. Think back through all your life and hold onto your most precious memory or Nldmao, picture clearly and hold onto it, so that whenever you think of him in the future you can remember that particular event and smile in remembrance."

Fondly Nhamas smiled at the sniffling forms of the whole village before him. The old man Nldmao had been the tribe's former shaman and reached the incredible age of 120 years, a thing unprecedented in the history of the Gorjil tribe and had thus seen every single citizen be born and many die too. Being such an ever-present presence, it hit the while tribe all the harder when he had finally re-joined their makers.

Turning around the newly appointed, tho rich in years, shaman directed his gaze to the pyre ship that contained his masters remains, remembering all those times they had spent together. Beginning with the day he had been identified as the next shaman in line when he had manifested his personal skill, namely the ability to amplify any plants growth rate by merely singing for it, as well as his many years studying and getting to learn a shaman's craft under Nldmao's watchful gaze.

After approximately 3 decades of diligently learning and taking in everything his teacher could show him Nhamas had decided to travel the continent in search of knowledge and a deeper understanding of himself. Still having to attend the bi-yearly shaman convent he had kept in touch with his former master and after 2 decades of travelling he had finally decided to return home and after doing so had taken up performing the old man's duties as he had reached the ripe age of 87.

Noone was fooled by Nldmao saying he unable to perform these duties himself, but after spending so many decades doing them he simply wanted to have a nice few last years. Oh, and him technically still being Nhamas' Master and thus being able to just dump everything on his "apprentice" helped a lot too of course. In the end he had passed away peacefully in his sleep, to be found in the morning by his apprentice and after three days of silent mourning it was time to conduct the present rite of the pyre.

Coming out of his memories Nhamas fully turned to the boat and started regally walking towards it, all the while his formerly fond smile turned into a blank mask. To his left and right the tribe's youths, who had yet to have their rite of passage through ceremonial combat, started performing the traditional "Eancd", a mixture of synchronised movements as well as many different types of grunts, hisses and growls, amounting to an age old ritual meant to intimidate the enemy and hype up your own. Used in this context it was more of a way to express the youths' respect.

Amidst the slapping and drumming sounds of young men pounding their chests, slapping their elbows and thighs while calling out for the old shamans' soul to have an easy passage into the afterlife Nhamas slowly stepped closer to the boat and with one last look at the now piecful face of his mentor proceeded to push the boat into the lake.

While the Eancd continued to rise in intensity in the background the newly appointed shaman followed the boats course and as it reached the centre of said lake, he gestured the archers standing behind the crowd of villagers to shoot their fire arrows and thus incinerate the boat to finish the ceremony. On his signal bowstrings were drawn back and after a child with a torch had run by and ignited the arrow tips fingers released said strings, only for red streaks of fire to fly towards the boat.

Unnoticed by all the sky had been darkening from the moment the boat had left the shore and by the time the fire arrows had left the bow the clouds above had formed a dark cyclone pulsating with green lightning. As the flaming projectiles reached the boat and it began to catch fire the heavens unloaded in huge, green lightning bolts, hitting the boat, lake and ground around said lake as well as blinding all present people with a deafening boom.

Blinking to rid himself of the white spots in his vision, Nhamas looked out onto the lake only to find the boat including his mentors' corpse missing. Hearing groans behind him he swiftly turned around just to find a circular burn mark amidst the now blown over citizens of Ttads. In the exact centre of aforementioned burn mark, between runes, seemingly made by one of the thunderbolts, lay a small bundle of cloth.

Slowly stepping closer the shaman could start to make out the face of an infant, possessing a lightning bolt scar on the left side of its' face, starting in the middle of its' forehead and ending at just about the corner of its' mouth. Coming closer he was now able to decipher the runes surrounding the babe, some of them not know to even him, even tho he had learned many different ones on his travels. Others he did know, and their meaning filled him with hope, as they entwined greatness, might and leadership with the kids' future.

All around him the townspeople started regaining their senses and those few who had fallen began standing back up, all the while Nhamas couldn't tear his eyes away from the kids' now open, red and green, glowing eyes. Sinking down on his knees the shaman made to picking the bundled-up kid up, never breaking the eye contact he had established with it. Standing back up he finally looked around him the townspeople's silence broke and their questions spilled forth like water from a broken dam. "Who is this child Nhamas?" "Where did it come from?" "Did you cause that lightning storm?" "Where's the boat?"

Those and many more questions were asked before the newly appointed shaman got a handle of the situation by loudly shouting "CALM MY FRINEDS!", startling the child still in his arms, who in turn was about to start crying. Quickly shushing the infant by cradling it closer and humming a few notes, he turned back to the assembled citizens. "I did, in fact, neither have any hand in the storm and the following disappearance of Nldmao, nor the appearance of this child but I believe that both occurrences are signs! Signs of the Rajilos ad Malaji, sending us one marked for greatness and taking our most faithful fromer shaman directly to them! Haven't you seen the color of the lightning bolts? Green as the playful ones' eyes they were, and the child possesses both the playful and the tall ones' eye colours! Thus, I shall take it upon myself to care and raise this kid to be the pride of our tribe."

Excited mumbling spread through the crowd as Nhamas hastily retreated to his house and as he left line of sight the first few people seemed to break out of the almost haze like state they had all fallen into after being overwhelmed with the happenings of the last few minutes and slowly but surely the townsfolk started trickling back to the town.

In the evening of that same exact day those few symbols that the shaman had been unable to read started glowing in an ominous red before fading all together, along with all the other marks. Nhamas had predicted the kid's future to e greatness, but truly he had no idea just what fate had in mind fot that small bundle had taken in today.

oOwOo

**AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALright, another Wednesday another chapter! All the chapters that I've put out so far have been self-beta'd, so I ask you to excuse the typos that I may have missed. Critique is warmly welcomed and as always, thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Spoiler alert: **I don't own Harry Potter, or anything related to the brand, the only thing I DO own are the OC's and the general plot of this story …. Would be nice if I did own HP tho. What I could do with all that money … Sorry I'm rambling, enjoy!

And even tho I personally am not a fan of lots of actual rambling, I still wanted to say thanks for all the fav's, follows and readers in general. Now, without further ado:

**Chapter 4 - For every journey starts with a single step… **

As the sun rose to once again shine upon the treetops of the "Dalw", as the forest surrounding Ttads was called by the locals, the city itself began to slowly wake up. Soon the screech of a bird akin to a rooster was heard all across the town, leading to the rising of all those that had not risen with the sun itself.

Steadily the streets began to fill, merchants started opening their booths at the marketplace and the sound of work, be it smiting, construction, haggling or even that of guards conversing on duty steadily rose to its ordinary volume. Those were the sounds that woke 4-year-old Raal Monadre, usually just called Raal by everyone. His mismatched ruby red and emerald green eyes flew open as he basically jumped off his cot onto the solid dirt ground of his room, bolting into the bath to quickly rinse his face and hands by means of the water bucket situated in said room.

After completing his morning rituals of cleaning himself, coating his teeth in paste made of roots and herbs as to not let them rot and running his bone comb through his rather lengthy hair he once again bolted out of the bath, through his room, into the sitting room.

The room was a rather homey one, decorated with not only a fireplace, two highly comfortable, fur covered seats, numerous fur rugs and las but not least 4 doors leading out of it. Out of one of these doors our little hero had just emerged, namely the one to the east side of the room. To the south of the room the entrance to the house itself lay, marked by an oaken door. To the west the room of his father, one elderly man named Nhamas, lay and lastly to the north the family of twos kitchen could be found.

Reaching up to close the door he had just come through silently, the little bundle of energy that was Raal continued his path towards the house's kitchen. Upon entering the room his highly sensitive sense of smell was overcome with the scent of freshly baked bread and herbal tea, meaning his father was already up, preparing their breakfast.

**oOwOo**

Reminiscing the last few years, Nhamas couldn't be more content with how they had turned out. Not only had he his tribe been spared by any and all epidemics, the worst case of illness being a hand full of harsher colds last winter, but his day to day life had brightened up considerably by the addition of the walking sunshine that was his son Raal.

Mind you, Raal was not his biological son, but the two of them were as close as can be so what did it matter that he had adopted him. Lost in thought as he was, he never heard the door to the kitchen, where he was preparing breakfast at the moment, open and was thus blindsided when a bundle of energy crashed into his side with the speed of an arrow.

"Good morning little one" Nhamas said as his face changed from neutral into a soft smile. Tilting his head upwards to show his father his beaming face the little boy answered "Sure I did father!" and proceeded to squeeze the ever living daylight out of his father. "What are you making?" came the muffled question mere seconds later, as the child had squashed his face into Nhamas robes once again. "Tea" was the simple, yet not unkind answer given to the kid.

After finally untangling Raal from his abdomen the two proceeded to eat their breakfast in comfortable silence. Leaving Raal to clean up Nhamas proceeded to walk into the living room, off to prepare todays lesson to further his son's knowledge in not only the arcane but also in herbology and day to day knowledge, as it had been made clear that fate smiles upon Raal when he had developed a shaman's ability last winter.

_Flashback_

_Winter had been particularly harsh this year and while no bad cases of illness had been reported, firewood and food supplies were running low as no one had been able to enter the forest in fear of freezing to death in little to no time. For exactly that reason Nhamas had had to leave the warm comfort of his hut, as to collect some firewood, since in his role as tribe shaman he had to use a higher amount of firewood to produce different kinds of concoctions to be prepared to treat wounded hunters coming home after a hunt or even those few people that would get sick. _

_Having been out in the cold for more than a whole day in the glacial temperature of negative 50 degrees Celsius (-58 Fahrenheit) people and more specifically his yet to be named son started to worry greatly. _

_oOwOo_

_He was distraught. Terrified even. He wanted his father back, but the nice lady next door wouldn't let him leave with the search party, so he was forced to wait and sit, hoping they'd find his father and bring him back healthy. His father couldn't die yet! He just couldn't, not so close to the time he'd be named by finally awakening his personal ability, as was tradition for nightwalker kids. He'd been feeling an unfamiliar warmth for a few days now, steadily building in his chest, and was sure that in just a few days more it'd manifest into whatever his ability would be! _

_Frantic knocking snapped the boy out of his inner monologue and somewhat stopped him from panicking even further. The kind woman who had been holding him in a comforting embrace softly set him down and ushered him into bed once more. Shortly after she proceeded to rise and closed the bedroom door, darkness once again enveloping the boy in its embrace. _

_Swiftly hopping out from beneath the covers again the boy quickly walked over to the door and with lots of stretching to reach the handle he managed to open said door just a slit. Peering through the newly made opening he watched as the nice lady covered her mouth in shock, presumably at something the man standing in front of her had just said. "Do you think he'll be alright?" was all the child managed to hear, coming from the woman's mouth. Now "Boy" as he was affectionately referred to by everyone, as was ever other male without their ability but that was of no importance, had always been extraordinarily smart for his age, some might even say he was a genius of seldomly seen proportions. Putting this intellect to good use it was easy for the kid to put one and one together and get two as an obvious result, thus he quipped up in a quivering voice "What happened to father?"_

_Floored as they were by not only the quick deduction but also the fact that they had yet to notice him until he spoke up, both adults took a few seconds to compose themselves. Finally the man, a burly, bearded giant with two huge, gleaming white tusks emerging from his lower jaw, and arms, that's greyish blue skin was covered in red markings, a tell tale sign that his ability was centred around them. "We found your dad with wounds all over his body not far from the town little one and managed to drag him back. He's alive for now but no one knows what attacked him, nor do we have a shaman apprentice to take care of him yet, meaning his chances of recovery are rather slim." Came the blunt reply._

"_Can I see him?" was the only thing the small boy asked, as tears began to pool in his eyes. Instead of answering the man just quickly looked at the woman in front of him, receiving an uncertain look in turn. His eyes hardening, the man, Horct his name was if the kid remembered correctly, made his choice and slowly walked towards the child._

_Squatting down in front of him, Horct looking into his eyes, the soft, orange light of the fireplace throwing deep shadows along his from. "Are you sure you are up for that boy?" He gruffly asked, steadily holding the boys gaze._

_The only answer he received was a shy but determined nod and with a sigh the man proceeded to pick the child up, wrap him in a blanket he received from the woman and went to whatever house Nhamas was being treated._

_For the boy the walk to his father was a mere blur, so concerned he was for his father's wellbeing, that neither the cold, nor him_ _and the man carrying him entering another house registered for him until the time he was being set down in front of a bed, containing a figure. Lying beneath a blanket, one was barely able to see Nhamas bandage covered torso, the smell of herbs, blood and sweat permeating the air. _

_Eyes impossibly wide, the child stepped closer to the cot, completely focussed on his fathers laboured breathing. Everything around him dissolved into a blur once more after that short moment of clarity he had had when being set down upon the ground. His chest was burning with sadness, fear and despair of never seeing his father smile again. The flame that had slowly been building over the last few days, akin to a bonfire, literally exploded into an inferno of blazing flames, racing through his veins, pumping through his heart, igniting his muscles and drying out his eyes, so much that he didn't cry, not because of a lack of tears being produced, but because of them evaporating immediately due to his eyes high temperature. _

_Slowly walking forward, his mismatched red and green eyes glowing, the heterochromatic boy slowly extended his hand towards his father's forehead. Tho it never registered to the boy, the room, formerly busy and loud with people scurrying left and right, getting one thing or another, or heatedly talking to each other, had gone deathly quiet after seeing the small child's ghostly glowing eyes. _

_Step after step, the boy came closer to his father, the fire in his body seemingly growing hotter and hotter, splitting in two differently coloured sections, crimson, violent flames concentrated in his left body half with their greatest concentration in his red, left eye. Almost as if to balance those crimson flames out, his right body half was dominated by calm, emerald green flames, that were, as their red counterpart, highly concentrated around the boys right eye. _

_Placing his hands on his fathers forehead, he let his red flames instinctively reach out to the biggest energy source in his vicinity, namely the high burning fire to the right side of the room, and let it consume every last drop of energy and life that it could, just to convert it into life force, and direct that into his father's body through his green flames._

_As the flames were finally snuffed out by the process of effectively healing his father, whose wounds were slowly closing up, only to leave behind scars that would remind Nhamas of his close encounter with death for the rest of his life, the boy working this exact wonder healing started to exhaust himself and just as his father was finally able to take a deep breath and slip from his formerly fevered sleep into a much more relaxed and deep one with a deep sigh, fell unconscious. _

_Flashback end_

Absentmindedly tracing a long, wide scar that ran across his abdomen and came from this exact close encounter with death, Nhamas was snapped out of his memories by the sound of his sons' footsteps closing in on the chair he was currently sitting in. Focusing back on the present, he could see his son sitting down on the ground in front of him, as was customary for their lessons.

"What are you going to teach me today father?" Raal quipped up from his position in front of him, looking up to the old shaman with wide, curious eyes. "Well little Raal, I think it is finally time to get you started on the runes of our ancestors, isn't it?" The only answer he'd get was an excited whoop from the boy, who'd jump up and race towards his bedroom to fetch parchment and a quill with an inkwell.

Sitting back down excitedly, Raals eyes were trained on the old man that was not only his father but also his master, waiting for hi to share more of his precious knowledge. Fondly the old man looked at his son, recalling the time long ago when he had been as excited at the prospect of learning new things as his boy now was.

"Now let us start from the beginning, what you see here is what our ancestors called "Rtas" or the morning star, a rune that has the innate meaning of protection, light and far sight…."

**oOwOo**

**Alright – firstly I'm sorry about updating late and about this chapter likely containing more mistakes since I have been unable to proofread it. But my aunt needed some help and family comes first so I had way less time than usual this week to write, leading this chapter to be a lot shorter than anticipated. I'll just try and make the next one longer, I guess. Now, I hope you enjoyed this chapter either way! Criticism is, of course, highly appreciated and in the end I can just say: And as always, thanks for reading. **


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